


The Disbelieving Heart

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 19:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12327384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Cas doesn't believe in soulmates. Neither does Dean.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angela7667](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angela7667/gifts).



> Angela, I really did want to write you something nice, because you're one of the most lovely people in this fandom, and never fail to make me smile. This was written fairly quickly and has only had a couple of brief proofreads, but I hope it's turned out okay...
> 
> This... I promise... started out with the best intentions... I know it finishes at an awkward spot, but I guess that means there's hope for a future chapter/part? Maybe? I don't know.
> 
> All the love and hugs either way! xx

Everyone says that the closer your soulmate mark is to your heart, the greater the match will be.

Cas doesn't believe in such things. Cas doesn't believe in the soulmates thing at all, if he’s honest. Not one marriage in his family can be attributed to a soulmate matching; it's always been an agreement to strengthen bloodlines, good business decisions to keep wealth within the extended family, and why he has endured more than his fair share of jokes about marrying his cousins over the years.

His mother's been making noises about a distant cousin named Anna, his closest friend Balthazar keeps teasing him about his most troublesome cousin Gabriel still being available, and all Cas wants to do is be far away from the lot of them.

Free to paint. Free to sketch. Free to sculpt. Free to be himself.

So when he's offered a chance of a lifetime opportunity on the other side of the country, Cas snaps it up without hesitating. Packs his bags almost before he's got to the bottom of his acceptance letter, and already fantasizing about having peace and quiet for a while.

His family is _noisy_ , Cas thinks, looking himself over in the mirror as he prepares to leave for the airport, his eyes lingering along the single, curved line over his heart that tapers off to a sharp point at one end, and disappears into nothingness at the other, and tells himself it’s just a birth defect for the hundredth time.

Soulmates happen for other people. Soulmates happen for those who have love in their heart, who are certain about what it is to love another person. They’re not made for the likes of him, Cas reminds himself, those who would prefer to close themselves off from the majority of the world to avoid being hurt, and having difficult conversations.

And soulmates, Cas thinks, staring himself down in the mirror, are nothing but happy coincidences of compatible people meeting in the right place at the right time. Cas does not, generally, believe in coincidences. Neither does he believe there are people that anyone is destined to meet. Life just isn’t like that.

His eyes linger over that line one more time, then he’s throwing on a shirt, running a hand through constantly unruly hair, and glancing over his apartment, very happy to be leaving everything behind.

***

Cas’ new apartment is like something out of a dream.  

His dreams are simple; clean lines, swathes of color, an empty space where he can truly breathe. Just enough people in his life to keep him company, and endless stretches of things to paint on, clay to mold, characters to pencil into life. And this apartment is the very reflection of so much of that.

Cas wanders around the place he’s going to call home for however long he gets to live in this bubble of his artist-in-residence program, stroking over curtains and peeking out of windows, and wonders if here is where he’ll finally lead his own life. Without his parents breathing down his neck to be something other than he is, without the crippling legacy of needing his own space being mistaken for being unfriendly and unapproachable. Here, he can start over in all the ways Cas wishes he’d allowed himself to do back home, and let himself truly exist.

Cas snatches up his keys before he can second-guess himself, and makes his way outside.

***

Three weeks into the program, and Cas is in his element. His palms are constantly smudged with paint and ink, his clothes crumpled and laundry day long been and gone, but there’s a smile etched on to his face that feels like it might be permanent. He’s never really smiled like this before, not this much anyway, Cas thinks, as he catches his reflection in the mirror whilst he gathers up that abandoned laundry, and laughs when his eyes stare back at him looking half-surprised.

After debating it, Cas drops the laundry basket to the floor and shrugs out of the shirt he’s wearing, eyes lingering for only a second on the line over his heart. He’s too busy to think about that these days, when there have been times in his life when he’s thought of little else, and it’s nice to be able to look at it in passing without it triggering memories he’d rather forget.

Once, not long after the mark had appeared there on his skin when he was about fourteen, a school swimming session had almost made Cas never look at his own reflection again. School bullies, whose names he chooses not to allow to surface in his mind, pointed out the mark to all their schoolmates, laughing in hilarity at the thought of the awkward nerd in the corner loving anyone but himself—of him being loved by anybody.  

And it had stuck with Cas, the thought that he was unlovable. He had a family who showed no affection unless it was to gain something, after all, to reinforce that opinion. And the few people he’d attempted to have any romantic relationship with generally scoffed at his efforts, calling him either too intense, or too reserved. So, the thought of him having a soulmate became as laughable to him as it was to everyone else around him. How could he ever open his heart up to someone he didn’t know, when those he _did_ know, found him forever cold?

Cas rolls his eyes at himself then, catching the end of it in the mirror before scooping up the laundry basket again and walking back through to his bedroom. He finds a clean shirt in the back of the closet that’s not his favorite for the way it fits tightly over his skin, but bought anyway on a whim, then goes over a mental to-do list, and smiles at the sun streaming in from outside.  

Today is yet another good day, Cas says to himself as he goes about his tasks before leaving the apartment. He’s working on a painting that he’s already sure is going to be one of his best, he has a lunch planned with some new friends that he’s made that _don’t_ think he’s too self-important to spend time with, and sleep is coming easier to him than Cas thinks it ever has done in his life.

Life is _good_ , he smiles, making his way for lunch.

***

Charlie and Meg, Cas thinks at the sight of Charlie’s enthusiastic waving and Meg’s smirk as he walks through the door of the cafe, are about as different as it’s possible to get, yet the closest of friends at the same time. Cas had met them during his orientation meeting at the college he's in residence at, where Charlie teaches digital art, and Meg terrorizes students in between running the library with meticulous precision. Charlie and Meg have known each other since high school, and it shows for the way they finish each other’s sentences, how Meg’s got a story of either disapproval or grudging respect for any girl who’s ever caught Charlie’s attention. How Charlie’s unaffected by any of Meg’s sharpness, and is the first to defend her whenever anyone else doesn’t get her humor, and therefore doesn’t know how to respond.

Charlie and Meg folded Cas in as one of them from that very first meeting, and have been by his side almost permanently ever since. And Cas has grown used to their ways as though he’s known them both much longer than he has, accepting Charlie’s enthusiastic hug, and Meg’s lewd wink over her shoulder before he even sits.

“Clarence,” Meg greets, sliding across the coffee she’s already ordered for him and tapping at the menu so he knows to look for something to eat.

“Walk me to class when we’re done?” Charlie asks as she looks at him with puppy-dog eyes, taking a pull on the straw wedged in a huge Frappuccino, and grinning around it when he nods in agreement. And conversation flows between them, natural as anything, with laughter ringing out, and Cas feeling that this is one place where he truly belongs.

His attention, however, is taken with the next customer approaching the counter.

From where Cas is sitting, he’s got a good view of everyone walking through the cafe doors, and the man who’s just stepped up to order has Cas’ undivided attention so much, that he actually looks round Meg’s snapping fingers in his face to keep on looking at him.

Tall, well-built if his grease-smeared overalls are anything to go by for the way he fills them, dark blond hair, and a voice that’s just deep enough to carry across the small space between him and their table; Cas swallows hard watching the man’s back and his easy conversation with the waitress, and idly wonders what kind of excuse he’d have to make to get him to speak to him.

He’s… out of practice, Cas thinks to himself with a huff, and if that’s ever an understatement; it has to have been a good three years since he’s been in anything even resembling a relationship—and if Cas doesn’t chide himself then and there for even letting his thoughts escalate that far—  

“Dean,”

Cas flinches at Charlie yelling from beside him, notices the way the man’s back straightens up, and holds his breath as he turns just enough to look in the direction of the voice calling him.

“Charlie,” he calls back, just as enthusiastic, and he’s paying the waitress and pointing towards their table, then striding over, making Cas’ breath catch with every step.

Beautiful, Cas thinks, a little dazed as the man— _Dean_ —sends a smile in his direction, then is coming to stand beside him, where Charlie’s already on her feet and immediately being swept up in a hug.

“It’s been weeks,” Charlie declares when she finally lets go, and Dean laughs, his head falling forward for a second before he’s straightening up, squeezing his hands around her sides, saluting Meg, and standing back.  

“It’s been two weeks,” Dean amends with a smile that Cas is struggling not to echo, though not as hard as he’s debating with his own eyes not to sweep up the length of Dean now he’s got him up close.

“Dean LARPs with me,” Charlie turns to tell Cas, her eyes sparkling, “hey, _you_ should come LARP with us, Cas,”

“I—”

“That’s _right_ ,” Charlie says then, a hand pressed against her chest in mock surprise, “you guys haven’t met. Cas, this is my friend, Dean. Hufflepuff, bisexual mechanic dreamboat—”

Dean’s cheeks light up with the most adorable blush, Cas thinks, watching as he tries to protest and receives a slap to his stomach for his efforts with the back of Charlie’s hand.

“—who happens to be _single_ , and free this weekend,” she adds, beaming between the two of them, and Meg contributes nothing but mirth-filled laughter.  

“How’d you know I’m free this weekend?” Dean counters, a hand up at the back of his neck as he turns a small smile on Cas and waves. “I’d… shake your hand, but…”

Cas looks at the palm smudged in grease and dirt, and forces down a painful swallow, thinking he’d be more than happy to be marked up like that. “It’s okay,”

Then immediately replays the fact that Dean didn’t deny being _single_ , and tells himself to get his thoughts firmly in line.

“Got any engines you need tuning up, or pipes cleaning out?” Charlie adds with an innocent smile beamed at Cas. Dean protests at her under his breath and flushes an even brighter shade of red, then briefly turns to send Cas a look he thinks is an apology.

What beautiful eyes, Cas thinks, holding his gaze for a few too-long seconds before shrugging with unaffected ease.

“Anyway,” Charlie says, turning back to Dean and lightly slapping him in the stomach again, “if you’re _not_ busy this weekend, then you’ve got no excuse,”

“For?” Dean prompts, narrowing his eyes a little and almost leaning back from her, one hand pressed lightly over his heart as though in preparation for hearing something horrible.

“Games night. My place. Saturday,”

“Sam’s back for a few days,” Dean adds immediately, beginning to shake his head.

“Sam’s invited too,” she shrugs, then turns to look more fully at Cas as she explains, “Dean’s moose of a brother. You’re coming too, right?”

“I—”

“Sure you are,” Meg agrees for him, drawling and her eyes deliberately dragging between Dean and Cas with an increasingly wicked smile.

“I… I gotta go,” Dean stumbles, waving at the waitress as she approaches with a handful of grease-spotted bags that suggest a lunch run.  

“Saturday,” Charlie calls as Dean tries to leave, and Dean pivots on the spot, sighs, and nods in agreement, offers up another half-smile of apology in Cas’ direction, then is striding out the cafe.

“Well, this _is_ going to be interesting,” Meg smiles, and the look that passes between her and Charlie screams _plotting_. Cas thinks about some kind of retort but comes up with nothing, so takes a deliberate, careful bite of his sandwich and avoids both sets of staring eyes.

***  

Charlie and Meg’s friends are welcoming, inviting Cas in as though he’s been long-expected, and five minutes after arriving it feels as though he’s already a part of the larger group. There’s Gilda, who Cas suspects is next on the list to receive either Meg’s approval or disapproval judging by the way her and Charlie seem to be orbiting around one another. There’s Ash, and Benny, who’s already insisted Cas come visit him in his restaurant for dinner some time. Jo, who’s apparently taken on the role of little sister to everyone in the room despite seeming more than capable of holding her own in any situation. And then of course there’s Dean, along with his brother Sam—who really _is_ huge—and Sam’s girlfriend Eileen.

Cas already has a soft spot for Eileen, even if it is a selfish one for the chance to practice the ASL he’d learned in high school throughout the evening.

Dean is just as beautiful as Cas remembers him from the cafe, Cas thinks, as he gives him what he hopes is a discreet glance over out the corner of his eye. Only now he’s in these really, really well fitting blue jeans that reveal a slight bow to his legs that Cas argues with himself is _not_ endearing, and a navy plaid shirt over a tight grey t-shirt that fits in all the good places, and just invites Cas to keep looking.  

His eyes are green, Cas adds to the lists of things he’s noticed about Dean, along with the nervous way he sometimes cuffs the back of his neck, the constantly proud gaze he has for Sam, and the soft looks he keeps giving Eileen that say he’s happy that she’s becoming a part of the family.

The evening is more enjoyable than Cas could have hoped for, and the board games they end up playing more fun than he could have imagined. He particularly likes Cards Against Humanity, if for nothing else but the raucous way Dean continuously laughs throughout it.   

As it gets later, the conversation turns to soulmates, and Cas is somewhat pleased to hear Dean’s instant scoffing at the idea, silently echoing his words with his own thoughts.

“If we’re all supposed to pair off with each other, how come it’s not easier to find the one you’re _supposed_ to be with, huh? And how come we all _feel_ things for people—multiple people—and even get together with other people and have things work out, when they _don’t_ share the same soulmate mark?”

“Cynic,” Benny replies, an easy smile about his face as he looks Dean over and shakes his head.

“Yeah,” Dean huffs, rolling his eyes at him, “easy for you to say,”

“I admit I lucked out with my Andrea,” Benny laughs, holding his hands up high in defeat.

“You’re… soulmates?” Cas asks, curious, and trying not to allow his disbelief and disdain drip into his voice.

“We are that,” Benny agrees, and begins to tell him the story of him and Andrea getting together. It sounds far-fetched and like something out of a fairytale, but Benny seems so happy, that Cas can’t help smiling throughout.

“And _their_ mark is only on their stomach,” Ash says idly before draining the rest of his beer, “who knows how sapped out they’d be if it was over their heart?”

“Horse crap,” Dean announces, shaking his head. “Look. You and Andrea? I get it; made for each other and all that, all this _soulmate_ crap or not,”

“But?” Benny prompts, looking nothing but amused as he turns to him.

“This whole thing about the two people, and their two separate marks making one image or something, so you know you’re supposed to _be_ together?” Dean scoffs. “It’s crap, man. Kids stories—”

“You wanna look for yourself, Dean?” Benny teases, sitting up a fraction and beginning to raise his shirt. “‘Cos if you wanted a peek at all this—”

“You’re telling me, there’s some god, or _something_ up there, who’s… doodling all these symbols and shit over their creations to help ‘em find each other when they’re meant to?” Dean says, eyeing him with the same incredulity Cas is feeling and keeping to himself for being the newest in the group, but smiling for the adamant tone of Dean’s voice all the same.

“You believe in ghosts,” Benny reasons with a shrug, “you believe in werewolves. Vampires. _Wendigos_ —”

“That was one— _one_ nightmare,” Dean protests with a hand out in defense, “and I—”

“Believe it or not,” Benny shrugs serenely, pulling his shirt down again, “it’ll happen to you too someday. And then you’ll see,”

“Yeah,” Dean huffs, “right. I—”

“And yours _is_ on your heart,” Sam adds, nudging into Dean’s side in teasing, “so you’re gonna be more loved up than any of us,”

Dean turns a pointed look between Eileen and Sam before offering Eileen up a wink, and nudging Sam hard in the arm.

“You, uh…” Cas begins to say, as he signs for Eileen, smiling at the flow of her fingers before she rolls up her sleeve and Sam does the same.

“That’s… that’s a tattoo,” Cas says bluntly, because it _is_ ; there’s no way it’s anything else. It’s a Chinese character, far too perfectly etched into their skin to be anything but purposely drawn there. Though the tattoo does have some living, shimmering quality to it that it takes a few seconds for Cas to drag his eyes away from.

“You’ve never seen a soulmate tattoo?” Eileen asks, sounding surprised, and Cas feels uncomfortable for the first time in the evening, with several sets of curious eyes fixed on him from around the room.

“I haven’t,” he answers carefully, “there are no soulmates in my family. None matched, anyway,”

“None?” Ash repeats, sounding incredulous, and so surprised that he pauses with a beer half way up to his mouth. Cas shakes his head in confirmation, and turns when Sam clears his throat to get his attention.

“So,” Sam says, curious and smiling at him, “you know that… that two halves thing, it’s like… they make one symbol, but when you agree to… when you decide to be together, there’s a whole ceremony where you choose what the symbol means—interpret it, I guess, then get this done,”

Cas looks down at the shimmering tattoo on Sam and Eileen’s left arms, and doesn’t know what to think.

“I never… I never had any reason to pay any attention to… _stories_ , about that,” Cas begins to explain, wondering what else he’s missed out on for how small his life had been growing up. Keeping himself to himself, having few people to talk to both in and outside of his family; what else is there that he should be aware of, and is now lacking because he doesn’t know is important?

“I didn’t see my first soulmate tattoo ‘till two years ago,” Meg says, the tone of her voice bored, but the look on her face Cas has come to recognize as standing up for him, not wanting him to be embarrassed. “It’s not like we _all_ get to find our forevers with someone,”

“How’d… how’d you decide on your tattoo?” Ash asks, looking over Sam’s in interest, then looking up with an expectant smile.    

“I mean,” Sam begins to say, turning a little more into Eileen so she can follow his lips; Cas has watched his hesitant fingers signing basic ASL all evening, and wonders if he should offer some pointers since it had come so naturally to him, “our mark, it looked a bit like the Chinese symbol for _listen_ —”

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, mocking, though leaning forward so Eileen can follow his lips, “‘cos how many nights ‘d you sit up and _make_ it look like that?”

“I—”

“You’re telling me, you didn’t spend hours poring over books so it’d be more _romantic?_ ” Dean snorts, and Eileen laughs easily, so Cas knows she isn’t offended.

“Actually,” Eileen amends, “it was _me_ who said it looked like the symbol for _listen_. But you’re right; I spent _days_ trying to find something other than an outline of an _ear_. Aesthetics, you know?”

“Did you know,” Sam adds, enthusiastic, “that the symbol for _listen_ in Chinese, actually means _I give you my ears, my eyes, my undivided attention and my heart_ —”

And as Sam is speaking, he’s pointing out the component parts of the symbol that, Cas assumes, must include ears, eyes, and heart.

“—so it’s sort of the perfect symbol for this. Us,” he amends, turning to Eileen with a loving smile.   

“I think I just threw up in my own mouth,” Dean retorts, pained, but his eyes tell a different story entirely, of just how happy he is for his brother.  

“So what’s yours like?” Ash asks, nudging Benny by his side. Benny doesn’t even pause when he stands up to show his own tattoo off, and Cas looks at the shimmering anchor there on his stomach then waits for an explanation.

“It’s exactly what it looked like. An anchor,” Benny shrugs, “and it’s right. She _is_ my anchor. That, and we met on a boat,”

Dean makes barfing noises, and everyone laughs a little, but the joy on Benny’s face means nothing touches him, not even a second of their teasing.  

There’s a brief discussion of the various marks those who are unmatched have on their skin— that Cas manages to avoid contributing to because of Ash, who doesn’t seem to be embarrassed by anything, happily dropping his pants to show his own mark mid-thigh, and standing there unconcerned as they try to interpret what the shape might mean.

But then Eileen is yawning, and Sam’s wrapping her up in his arms, and people start making noises about leaving, and the night is coming to a close.

“You got far to go?” Dean asks Cas quietly as he hands him his jacket, hovering as though he doesn’t know if he should even be asking.

“Not too far,”

“But it’s cold,” Charlie insists as she comes to stand in front of them, looking at Dean expectantly.  

“It’s summer,” Cas points out, shaking his head.

“And it’s two in the morning,” Charlie adds, shoving hard against his stomach as she continues to stare at Dean.  

“I’ll drop you,” Dean says as though that’s the end of the discussion. And Cas huddles downstairs to be introduced to Dean’s pride and joy of an Impala, then smiles to himself for hours when he should be sleeping, at the thought of the new friends he’s made. Wonders about that soulmate mark over Dean’s heart.

***

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean works about fifteen minutes away from Cas’ apartment, and lives about half an hour away in the other direction. Cas knows this, because it came up in the conversation the night after that first game night at Charlie’s; there’s been another one since—two, really, if he counts the one he’s currently being taken home from—one that’s finished earlier than usual because it was an impromptu decision to, as Charlie put it, _chase away those Sunday blues_.  

“So you’re liking it here, Cas?” Dean asks, idling the engine and glancing up at Cas’ apartment block before turning to him.

“I do,” he agrees, half-wanting to invite Dean in to look for himself, but thinking it’s late, and long past the time to be a good idea.

“And the… you got a studio or something at the college?” Dean continues, sounding genuinely interested.  

Cas sends a smile in his direction and gives a slow nod, enjoying these rare snatches he gets with Dean alone. “I do. It’s… more of a corner of a studio shared with two other people, but yes, it’s mine; at least, where I keep all my paintings and sculptures. Most of my sketching is at home, or in my bag,”

Dean glances down at Cas’ bag, forever pressed into his lap, and his mouth curves up into a smile.

“Known each other a little while now, Cas,” he says, his voice full of teasing, “any chance of you letting me see some o’ that?”

Cas swallows, hard, for the thought of Dean looking at his art. It’s an odd feeling, really, since nerves have never been something he’s felt when exhibiting or showing his work, except perhaps for a couple of times leading up to exams. But he smiles anyway, and nods. “Perhaps not in this light,”

“I’m… I said I’d take a look at Charlie’s car tomorrow,” Dean says, shrugging, “carburetor’s making some funny noises. Figure, if I get done in the parking lot early enough, maybe I can come up, take a look,”

“I’d like that—you can,” Cas quickly amends, pleading with himself not to blush, “but you’ll have to—take my number, so you can text me when you are ready. They do not like visitors in the building unaccompanied,”

“Got it,” Dean agrees with a quick nod, already reaching for his cell and handing it over for Cas to type his number in, “security’s important and all that,”

“It is,” Cas agrees, a hand pressed over his own phone in his pocket as Dean calls him once so he now has his number as well, “it also means no one can accuse anyone else of theft, or sabotage, since we are all responsible for our own guests,”

“There’s that too,” Dean agrees, looking as though he hadn’t even considered the idea.

“I’ll… be working all afternoon,” Cas adds, telling his voice it will not come out awkward. Telling himself not to be so excited by the possibility of a visit from Dean. He’s been discreet in his… _observation_ of Dean on the few occasions he’s seen him, and he doesn’t want to appear quite as ecstatic at the idea as he really is. Because that’s when he trips up over his own tongue and makes a fool of himself, and he doesn’t _want_ to fumble with Dean. Not like _that_ , anyway, Cas amends to himself, his cheeks blooming with heat at a surge of inappropriate images, forcing his mind to concentrate.

“And I… won’t be getting in the way just… dropping in?” Dean asks, oblivious to Cas’ internal ramblings, looking a little nervous in a way that Cas thinks is all kinds of cute.

“Not at all. It will be nice to have a visitor; one that doesn’t insist I paint… superheroes into the background, or… ask why there isn’t more blood,”

“Charlie and Meg?” Dean laughs, a slight groan to his voice as he shakes his head, and Cas nods in agreement, laughing softly himself. He wouldn’t have them any other way, of course. “Yeah, those two are… yeah…”

“They are,”

“Anyway,” Dean says, his eyes blowing a little wide and glancing at his phone quickly, seeming to realize the time, “I’ll... let you sleep,”

“See you tomorrow, hopefully,” Cas smiles, clicking the handle to open the door but not moving just yet, “and thank you once again for the lift,”

“Any time,” Dean smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and leaving Cas having to drag himself away from staring at him any longer than he already has done all night.

He does not, Cas tells himself, even as he does the exact thing he says he isn’t, take extra care in planning his clothes for the morning. He does not, he repeats, glance over that soulmate mark over his heart and curiously wonder what Dean’s might be like. He does not have a smile on his face that is all because of Dean when he eventually goes to sleep either, Cas reprimands himself, even as he’s letting his eyes drop closed.

***

“I… was picking up pie for Charlie and Meg, and I thought… it’s kinda close to lunchtime, so… I figured… maybe you hadn’t eaten yet,”

Cas takes in the paper bag being pressed into his hand the moment they step through to his studio, looks to the side to catch Dean’s blush, and feels his heart do a complicated little shuffle that means he’s having to control the way he’s smiling for just how pleased he is.

“Thank you,” he says, watching Dean cuff the back of his neck, “I must admit… I often forget what time it is when I am here,”

“I figured,” Dean smiles, then his head is turning and his eyes are darting out around the room in expectation. “So… maybe we can eat first? I… didn’t get time to eat either,”

“Your morning has been busy?” Cas asks as he ushers him over to his desk and attempts to clear a space for them to drop their bags down on.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, then proceeds to tell him about engine strips and tune ups and, to be honest, all kinds of things Cas has no clue about. But he knows enough from their albeit brief previous conversations that Dean works for his Uncle Bobby, and loves every moment of his work, no matter how busy it gets.

“How is Sam?” Cas prompts once he is finished, enjoying the way Dean’s face softens even more, and listens as he rambles on about one of the other favorite people in his life. Dean can be quiet sometimes, Cas has noticed, and chides himself for it given how little he’s actually seen of him. But when he’s given a subject he likes to talk about, or has strong feelings about, then Dean just talks and talks, and Cas feels like he could listen to Dean talk for hours. Curses at himself for having such a _crush_.

“Enough about me, anyway,” Dean says then, raising an eyebrow like he’s on to him and leaving Cas praying that a bright blush isn’t currently staining his cheeks. “Let’s see some of this artwork of yours,”

Cas raises to his feet and nods for Dean to follow, explaining the pieces that he’s working on and what he hopes they will become, relieved when Dean is smiling and asking good questions that mean Cas can hope he understands what he’s trying to achieve.

“You’re really, really good at this,” Dean says when he’s sat down at Cas’ small desk again going through his sketchbook, genuinely sounding in awe, “I mean, I love everything—”

Dean pauses to gesture with a vague arm waved around the room, then looks back down at the book in front of him and trails his fingers down the side of the page.

“—but these; these are absolutely my favorite,”

Cas glances over the various sketches there, modern-day depictions of religious scenes with a heavy emphasis on angels, and shrugs, thinking how best to explain himself.

“I, and many—most of my family, are named after angels,” Cas explains, “my father in particular is especially religious. I have struggled with that faith my entire life. I think of religious teachings as mere… interpretations of how we should treat each other—the good ones, of course. I have imagined angels from scripture and other religious texts in today’s world, and wondered what they might be like,”

“Yeah, well, no offence,” Dean says, smiling and already blushing a little, “but… these drawings? I… these are like… you could be a serious contender for all the graphic novels out there. Charlie’s gotta’ve eaten this stuff up. It’s awesome,”

“She has expressed… enjoyment of my work,” Cas allows, thinking of the excited squealing, the words spoken at him a hundred miles a minute plotting out storylines and back stories and over-reaching character arcs.

“I’ll bet,” Dean grins like he’s reading his mind, and Cas shuffles awkwardly on the spot. “So. What’d you do when you’re not working on all this?”

Cas pauses for a moment and tries to find ways to make his simple life sound more interesting.

“I… spend time with Charlie and Meg,” he starts with, thinking it’s a good, neutral offering. “Benny invited me to his restaurant last week—”  

“Oh, his food,” Dean immediately interrupts, closing his eyes and biting down on his lower lip in a way that has Cas shifting even more in discomfort.    

“He is an exceptional chef,” Cas agrees anyway, a happy image coming to him of Benny and his wife, and how perfect they seemed to slot together as though that soulmate tattoo they shared really does mean something after all.

Cas remembers watching the two of them together, they way they filled the space of each other, and how every movement appeared to be a never ending, fluid, sensual dance.  He can’t imagine having that with anyone; attraction he gets, wanting someone he understands, he thinks, smiling back at Dean, but anything else seems so far-fetched.  

He smiles a little harder to disguise what he’s thinking, in case Dean might be reading his expression.

“I like to run—”

“Urgh,” Dean immediately grimaces, wiping a hand down over his face and looking back at Cas in mock-disdain.  

“You don’t like running?”

“Only good time for running’s when you’re being chased,” Dean retorts with, shaking his head, “and besides. I get all the exercise I need when I’m working,”

Cas quietly agrees, having let his eyes linger over Dean several times, and having thought of a million poor excuses for visiting him at work just to see him in those grease-stained overalls again, but only nods in agreement, not quite trusting his words.

“I mean, I’m not saying it’s not working out for you,” Dean adds, and Cas holds perfectly still as Dean looks him over as though he’s forgotten himself, then shakes his head and blushes hard. “I mean—”

“There is little exercise to be had in painting and sculpting,” Cas quickly says to help him, and Dean smiles in relief.  

“So. What else do you do for fun?” Dean prompts, and Cas is at a loss.

“I… my life is… fairly small,” he admits, dropping Dean’s gaze, not wanting to see the interest bleeding from it.  

“Hey. Mine too; you’re more likely to find me binge watching Netflix on weekends or… hanging out doing the same with Charlie or something, than much else. Though there is this awesome, awesome bar with live music on Saturdays that a bunch of us go to a fair bit. Ash works there,” Dean adds as an afterthought.

“I... thought Ash worked with computers?” Cas asks, shaking his head and certain he’d got that right.

“That too,” Dean shrugs, rolling his eyes, “though I can’t imagine it’s all that legal some of the stuff he does. But yeah. He works there. Place called The Bunker; owned by our friend Garth, who I assume you haven’t met yet?”

Cas shakes his head to confirm that and watches Dean’s smile grow.

“Garth’s good people,” Dean nods, “a little out there at times. And wait ‘til you meet Mr Fizzles,”

“Mr Fizzles?” Cas repeats, wondering how he’s going to remember all these new names. Dean snorts to himself and nods, smiling up at him in delight.

“I’ll… introduce you some time if you wanna come along,”  

Cas tells himself there is not hope in Dean’s voice as he asks, and finds himself nodding in agreement before even thinking about it.

“This Saturday?” Dean prompts, and this time Cas really does think there’s hope in his voice. He tells his stomach not to flutter and nods again.

“I have no plans,”

“No girlfriend… boyfriend… soulmate lurking that’d wanna come with?” Dean says then, and the tone of it makes Cas’ heart skip.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he says, hoping to keep his tone light.

“I always wondered how that works out,” Dean muses then, apparently to himself, “if you’re… if you’re gay, straight, whatever, but then your soulmate turns out to be… _not_ that…”

“I suppose the theory is that a soulmate is a soulmate, love is love, and gender does not come into it,” Cas replies, shrugging, “though I believe we both share the idea that _soulmates_ are little more than people being... extremely lucky in who they meet, and fall in love with,”

Cas knows that his tone has turned clinical, analytical, and for whatever that sparks in Dean, it makes his expression soften a little more.

“Guess so,”

“I would have no objection either way,” Cas adds then, blurting it out without even really intending to. Dean just smiles back at him but doesn’t add anything.

“So. Saturday?” Dean says, when there’s been a few seconds of them just staring at each other. “You’d be up for it? The bar I mean?”

“I would like that,”  

“The music, it’s… I mean it varies every week, but it’s usually rock—the good kind; stuff like that,”

“The good kind?” Cas prompts, smiling back at him.

“Yeah,” Dean enthuses, “I mean. Covers are never as good as the real thing, right? But some ‘o these guys are pretty good. Zeppelin. The Who. That kinda stuff,”

“I admit that I have not listened to either for… quite some time,”

“Seriously?” Dean says, now appearing incredulous, “dude. We gotta get you set up here. You got a tape deck?”

“Tape deck?”  

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, “for playing tapes. Got a box full in my car,”

“I… have a laptop. A tablet. My cell,” Cas says doubtfully, not even sure where he’d get a tape deck unless he looks online.

“Dude,” Dean says again, and Cas never thought that would be a word he’d find endearing, “you gotta… man, I can’t even lend you any CDs. All my stuff’s vinyl at home,”

“I… apologize,” Cas laughs, heart thudding for the way Dean’s eyes crinkle up as he smiles at him.

“I gotta idea,” Dean says then, seeming to vibrate a little in excitement, “not done it for a while. Been a lot on with work, but, I cook for a bunch of us midweek sometimes—just the guys you met at Charlie’s,”

Cas notes how Dean seems already aware that he needs time to get used to new people, and it endears him to him all the more. “That… would be good,”

“Then,” Dean says, smiling harder than Cas is sure he’s seen him do up to now, “I can put on some music in the background, get you reacquainted with all these classics you’ve abandoned,”  

“I did not abandon them,” Cas laughs, freely, and sure just as loud as Dean, “I merely… the only opportunity I really had listening to music, was in the bookstore I worked at when I was studying,”

Dean nods like he knows there’s a story there, but thankfully doesn’t push it, and their conversation turns to other things. Dean stays with him another half hour, then is glancing at his watch and guiltily looking towards the door.

“Hey, Cas, uh…” Dean begins, stuttering a little and his hand already up at his neck, “I’ve… lived in this place my whole life, so I… I can’t imagine what it’s like moving somewhere new for the first time. But if you need anything—anything at all; even if it’s just someone to… I don’t know. Grab a coffee, or beer with; you got my number now, okay?”

Cas’ heart thuds hard, and he has to smile for a few seconds before he trusts himself to speak. “Thank you, Dean. I appreciate that,”

“And I’ll… I’ll message you about Saturday,” he adds, nodding as he checks to make sure he’s not left anything, then smiles as though he half-doesn’t want to leave.

“I look forward to it,” Cas tells him, and he can’t tell if he means the message more than the night out, or the other way around.

Dean smiles then looks between Cas and the door, there are a few more words between them for a couple of minutes, and then he’s stumbling out with a glance over his shoulder and a wave of his hand.

Cas is still smiling after him when Meg arrives in the studio ten minutes later, and he should have realized from the smirk on her face the second he noticed she was there, that trouble was brewing.

“Clarence. What are we gonna do about your crush on Dean?”

***

Cas tugs down the hem of his shirt for the third time and glares at himself in the mirror, telling himself there is no need to be making such a fuss. Meg’s due any minute since she’s not drinking tonight so is playing taxi, and he knows one look from her will set him off panicking all over again.

He’d desperately tried and failed to deny his crush on Dean, and Meg had just stood there grinning at him in increasing mirth. Cas hopes she’s got enough compassion to not just blurt it out unannounced in front of everyone, but is buoyed by the things she’d told him, and uses that to keep his spirits up as he waits for her to arrive.

Dean, according to Charlie, is _interested_.  

Meg repeated to him all the conversations they’ve had between them about it, and Charlie has even backed it up since with several elaborately long texts. Cas is nervous, elated, and fairly terrified all at once; the few experiences with relationships he's had he’s just sort of stumbled into without much thought, and done the same coming out of them as well.

Dean is worth more than that.

It’s not been all that long since they first met, really, and an even shorter length of time since they exchanged numbers and began to talk on their own away from their friends. But every notification on his phone announcing Dean’s sent him yet another message has Cas smiling hard at the screen, and having to silence it if he doesn’t want to get too distracted at work.  

Cas wonders if he has the same effect on Dean, then catches himself absently running a finger along his soulmate mark through his shirt, not sure if it’s just an itch there or an actual sting. Or an overactive imagination.

Cas scolds himself once more just as his phone announces Meg is waiting for him outside. Glances himself over once more in the mirror, then heads out, his stomach clenching in anticipation of the evening ahead.  

***

Dean already has a table for them at the bar, apparently in a prime location between where the music is being performed and the bar itself. He greets Cas enthusiastically, and Cas is sure it’s deliberate when they end up sitting side by side, wedged in so their thighs are pressed together beneath the table.

There’s beer pressed into his hands, a tableful of suggestions for what’s the best thing to order on the menu, and Dean spends a good amount of time leaning in so he can point people out in the bar, as well as introduce him to a new friend, Kevin, who waves shyly at him, then goes back to a conversation with Charlie. And once they’ve eaten, Dean is beckoning him to the bar to meet both Garth and Mr Fizzles, and Dean’s face is a picture when Cas solemnly has a conversation with the puppet, clapping him on the back hard as tears stream down his face in hilarity, leaving Cas grinning at him stupidly and not caring about that at all.

Then the music starts, and Cas loses Dean’s attention, discreetly sneaking glances to his side and watching Dean enjoy the music almost as much fun as the songs the band are covering. Meg catches his eye from across the table and gives him a wink that’s indecent even by her standards, and Charlie’s making a gesture that Cas really hopes Dean will miss with the way his eyes are transfixed on the stage.

But Dean’s still pressed firmly into his side, occasionally turning a warm smile on him and nudging for him to pay attention to a particular song, laughing when he says he doesn’t know some, and horrified when he doesn’t recognize others.

“You,” he says, “I can’t deal with this. I’m gonna have to educate you on some good music,”

“If you feel the need,” Cas smiles, leaning back just as much.

“Mine. Wednesday. Dinner?” Dean says, raising an eyebrow, and Cas’ stomach gives a nervous flip.

“I would like that,”

“Just you and me this time,” Dean adds, and though the bar is loud, he speaks a little lower.  

Cas doesn’t want to know if that’s because everyone else is busy, allows the delusion that it’s something on the verge of a date, and smiles back, nodding once in agreement.

“What would you like me to bring?”

“You,” Dean shrugs, “and good listening ears. I can… pick you up whenever you want,”

“You don’t have to do that,” Cas immediately protests, thinking of the drive between Dean’s and his place, and how he might feel obliged to drive him back.

“Day off,” Dean shrugs, nodding towards his beer to see if Cas wants another, “and I can’t drink ‘cos I’ve got an early start on Thursday, so. Makes sense,”

“If you’re sure,” Cas replies, heart skipping repeatedly even when he pleads with it not to. The look Dean is giving him invites it though; it’s soft, intimate, all for him. Cas is only drawn away from it by Meg catcalling from across the table, and Dean’s immediately rolling his eyes but pulling back all the same.

Cas falls asleep that night with that smile still dancing behind his eyes, and his thumb absently tracing a pattern up the length of his soulmate mark.  

***

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Remember that time I thought I’d been hit by the whole soulmate bug a few years ago with that girl from Comic Con, and it turned out I was just allergic to that detergent I used on my cosplay costume?”

Charlie smiles as though the memory is fond, and Meg is smiling as though she still finds the entire idea ridiculous. But Cas appreciates it; that slight itch he’s been feeling over his soulmate mark for weeks flared into something bordering on irritating a few days ago, when he’d woken the morning after they’d all been out at The Bunker. Cas has tried to reason with himself that it’s all his imagination, and when that doesn’t work, that perhaps there was something in the air at the bar that affected everyone. Not that he’s mentioned that in any of his frequent messages to Dean, of course.

But this morning, when he finally forced himself to look after avoiding the mirror until he had a shirt on the past couple of days, there is redness surrounding the soulmate mark as though there is an infection, and it’s swollen, and hot to the touch. The moment he had Charlie and Meg alone he had seized the opportunity to reassure himself that he wasn’t making things up, and this is where he’s found himself; stood in his studio nervously pulling at his shirt, as Meg urges him repeatedly to take it off.  

“No,” he says again, slapping her hands away and sidestepping, only to bump into Charlie.

“How are we gonna help you, if you can’t even show us the goods?” Meg teases, stepping ever closer with a slow, predatory gait that Cas thinks he’s not going to be able to escape from.  

“It’s probably just a reaction to something,” he says, though the words are more like a plea for that to be a reality, than any real truth being behind the soulmates thing. Because now is very definitely not the time. He has a date with Dean, or at least, he thinks he does, Cas amends to himself, and at the very least he has an entire evening alone with him, and if he mentions to him the stupidity that he’s currently dealing with, then Dean will probably kick him straight out for being absurd.

“Then let us _see_ it, so we can rule that out,” Meg replies, her voice growing snarkier with impatience.

“Meg, I—”

There is a loud squeak that Cas is appalled to realize has slipped from his own mouth, as Charlie bunches up his t-shirt at the back and yanks it up, and in his haste to get away he seems to back out of the shirt altogether, until he’s standing there in the middle of his studio, shirtless, with wolf whistles ringing in his ears.

“Clarence,” Meg drawls, deliberately lingering a gleeful gaze over him, “I knew there was something hidden under all those layers you’ve been wearing,”  

“I mean, sooo not my thing, but, _damn_ ,” Charlie agrees, though her eyes sweeping up over his chest feel more like an inspection, and Cas has to wonder if she’s about to whip out a clipboard, give him marks out of ten.

“I’d hop on,” Meg tells him, and breath catches in his throat, just before she throws her head back and laughs then adds, “of course, if you didn’t already have a thing with _Dean_ ,”

“I do not have a thing with Dean,” Cas counters, because it’s true.

“A thing in progress,” she amends with an easy shrug.

“I—”

“It’s definitely swollen,” Charlie says, stepping forward and prodding at him as though he’s an interesting experiment.

“There must be a scratch, or infection, or—”

“Cas… have you never seen this kind of thing before?” Charlie asks, then holds up a finger telling him to wait. She starts stabbing at her phone and thumbing through before turning the screen to him, showing image upon image of soulmate marks aflame; just like the one currently on Cas’ chest. “It’s… _normal_ , for things like this to happen. Means you’re close to finding _yours_ ,”

Cas wants to feel her excitement. In fact, he tells himself, no, he doesn’t, he doesn’t want her to have a reason to be excited; not over something like this.

“This could be very exciting,” Meg adds, and Cas doesn’t want to hear it. He’s shrugging back into his shirt, snatching up his bag and stuffing his things in, then bolting out the door, calling for them to close it behind them.

***

He doesn’t believe in soulmates, Cas tells himself for the hundredth time on his anxious walk home; he’s never believed in soulmates. It’s never been a subject that’s been raised in his family, he repeats to himself feeling lost, and he’s not exactly had many discussions before now about it with his friends. He’s not _had_ all that many friends to discuss it with, Cas amends to himself as he tries to focus, imagines talking to Balthazar about this and the raucous laughter that would echo down the phone.

Soulmates, he repeats to himself, are just incredibly lucky meetings. When two people are perfectly compatible and fit together like two halves. It’s rare for anyone to find love quite that remarkable, if ever, Cas thinks, a firm believer that half the people in this world just _settle_ for not being alone by marrying whoever comes along. They are testament enough to _soulmates_ not being valid, or even a real thing for him to be concerning himself with.  

This isn’t happening to him.

Cas pulls his phone from his pocket as an afterthought, swipes away the missed calls from both Meg and Charlie, and answers Dean’s message as though nothing has happened, pleading with himself not to mess this up.

He _likes_ Dean, Cas thinks, cursing himself under his breath as though he has any choice in it, he _really_ likes Dean. It’s been a long, long while since Cas has had feelings for anyone, and he’s fairly sure he’s never felt this _much_. To be stuck with a soulmate at a time when he could be on the verge of something important feels like the universe is laughing at him, and if Cas could choose a time to rage furiously against his father’s beliefs in anything higher than humanity, then now is very definitely that time.

What if _Dean’s_ the reason this is happening, whispers a gleeful voice in the corner of his mind, and Cas comes to a physical stop in the middle of the sidewalk with his hand flying up to cover his own heart.

Dean’s soulmate mark is over his heart, Cas knew that from that very first evening at Charlie’s. But Dean’s about as far away from believing in this kind of thing as he is himself; so even if by some beautiful, taunting coincidence Dean happens to be fitting the soulmate bill, he’ll laugh it off just as much as Cas would. The best thing to do here, Cas decides, when he can get his feet stumbling forward again, is to pretend like it’s not happening. He’ll go to Dean’s this evening and indulge in his company, and since it’s far, far too soon to be worrying about what Dean might see if he has to take off his shirt, then the evening should be plain-sailing.

Cas occupies his mind with more pleasant things, like worrying over his choice of clothes for his possible-date, and wondering if he’s made the right decision by buying a pie for dessert.

***

Dean’s eyes sweep up in appreciation over Cas as he arrives, and it takes him about a good couple of seconds to school his expression in, blushing as he ushers Cas into his apartment. His plans for picking Cas up had fallen apart at the last minute with an emergency repair on the highway late afternoon, and Cas had called himself a taxi, sinking in relief that Dean’s call wasn’t to say he was cancelling altogether.  

Dean is obviously not that long out the shower; his t-shirt’s sticking to his back, and his hair is standing on end in places that Cas’ eyes can’t help being drawn to.

“I’m so sorry I messed this up,” Dean says, calling him forward into the kitchen where Cas can smell something delicious cooking, “I’m still good for taking you back later. Not that I’m in any hurry for you to leave, of course,”

Cas stutters when Dean spins on his heel in his hurry to make sure his words aren’t misunderstood, close enough that he can feel Dean’s breath on his face, and get a really good look at the greenness of his eyes.

“Sorry,” Dean mutters as he pulls back, thanking Cas profusely for the pie he’s bought and guiding him to lean on a counter as he stirs something, then charges through to the living room to start up some music.

“You recognize this?” Dean asks on his way back in, gesturing to see if Cas wants a beer.

“I do,” Cas agrees, accepting the beer pushed into his hand, and reeling off the name of both the artist and song title, feeling a little proud of himself for the delighted look on Dean’s face.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Dean says as he goes back over to the pan he’s stirring, “otherwise I’ll be feeding Bobby leftovers for days,”

“I am,” Cas assures him, coming to stand beside him and his stomach actually rumbling as he looks at what’s being prepared.  

Dinner is delicious, and the conversation flows between them with ease, not a beat missed between them, and not a single moment when their words are off mark. They sink down into the couch after eating agreeing they’re too full to move, and Dean admits defeat by grabbing his laptop and putting on a YouTube playlist instead of constantly getting up to change the vinyl.

Cas is convinced he’s never been this comfortable with anyone before. There’s no awkwardness to any of their interaction, and the later it gets in the evening, the closer they drift together on the couch. In fact, Cas thinks, as Dean’s hand rests easily on his shoulder as Cas takes a turn on the laptop choosing music, this might be the most straightforward conversation he’s ever had.

Maybe he’s biased, Cas adds, sure their fingers brush when he hands the laptop back, but he doesn’t care. He’s having fun, he’s feeling comfortably confident, and Dean’s smiling at him like he’s enjoying himself just as much.

And if he doesn’t get home until almost three in the morning, and both of them have sleepy conversations throughout the following day interspersed with a lot of coffee bemoaning but happily recalling their late night, then Cas doesn’t mind, and is fairly sure Dean doesn’t either.

***

They’re dating, Cas is sure they are. Neither might have said the words out loud, and Cas doesn't want to jinx things by asking, but is going with the assumption that Dean isn’t the type to be with multiple people at once, after a long conversation over alcohol about how important it is to be loyal and honest with the ones you love.

Not that _they’re_ in love, Cas amends to himself with a huff; what they are at the moment is very much at the lust stage; looks are definitely lingering, there’s constant excuses for touching, with Cas falling asleep in the crook of Dean’s arm when they watch a movie at his one Sunday, and both holding on far longer than necessary whenever they hug.  

There isn’t a day in the past few weeks where they haven’t seen each other. Cas has made his way to Dean’s uncle’s garage on numerous occasions bringing lunch, losing himself in the sight of Dean in his work overalls bent over a car. And Dean’s joined him for lunch in his studio a couple of times, interrupted on occasion by either Charlie, or Meg, or both when they’re feeling particularly mischievous. It’s all very innocent and sweet between them so far, but, Cas figures, there are some things that are worth taking all this time.

Even when they’re in a group they’re cocooned together; not in a way to exclude other people, but in a sense that means they always find themselves asked questions directed at the two of them as one, and there’s always the assumption that they will both arrive and leave at the same time.  

Cas likes it, he smiles to himself as he steps out the shower, toweling himself dry meticulously, ducking to peer out the window to see what the weather is like outside. But as he does, he can’t help notice his smudged reflection in the mirror, and goes to wipe it without thinking. The angry redness blooming around his soulmate mark is brighter than ever, and his skin appears stretched and taught.

He’s been trying to pretend it isn’t happening. Trying to ignore the constant stinging, even soothing it with over-the-counter creams and lotions temporarily, only for that stinging to return with a vengeance just a few minutes later. It’s not enough for him to be constantly worrying, yet he has made a discreet visit to an urgent care and walked out again the second his symptoms were pronounced. Cas concentrates on his art, his friends, and more than anything, Dean, when he needs to distract himself from it. It’s part of the reason he’s so pleased they haven’t rushed things between them, Cas thinks for a second, prodding at his skin before turn away to throw on a shirt.

But there is _need_ brewing between them. An urge for a development in their relationship; even if they have yet to even kiss. That need _is_ something that causes distraction; he can be halfway through fantasizing about Dean when he realizes he’s got a paintbrush in his hand, and a virgin canvas in front of him, waiting to be worked on.

It’s not a bad distraction, Cas adds to himself, feeling excited that he finally has so much going on in his life besides work. He’s not sure how they’re going to deal with the problem that’s blooming on his chest, but he has a feeling it’ll work out; even if he knows that part in particular of all of this is probably wishful thinking, and there is a real chance here that he’s going to lose everything of the life he’s built for himself, and wind up hurt.

***

Dean greets him with a hug, and Cas has learned how to hold himself so they’re firmly pressed together, yet there’s reduced pressure over his heart. Dean is happy however they hug each other, apparently, sighing his way into their embrace and dropping his head down on Cas’ shoulder.

“Had a good day, Cas?” he asks when they pull back a little, hooking his fingers around his waist to keep him close.

“Productive,” Cas answers, and it is mostly the truth. He slides his hands up Dean’s chest to rest against his shoulders, feeling Dean’s skin rippling beneath his palms.

“Productive,” Dean repeats, smiling at him as though that is the most adorable thing he could be saying, and Cas closes his eyes as Dean leans forward to drop a soft kiss on his cheek. He leans into it, shifts until their foreheads are pressed together and sighs there, wondering if now’s the time to take a little more.

With trembling fingers, Cas reaches out to curl them around the back of his neck. And Dean is ducking in at the same time as he is, their lips brushing only a fraction before there’s a surge of heat pulsing in his sternum, sinking its way down to his gut.  

That brush of lips is incendiary, and their kiss becomes a furious tangle of tongue and teeth, with Cas’ hands still curled over Dean’s shoulder and the back of his neck, and Dean’s hands bunched up in the back of Cas' shirt.

Their breath when they try to catch it comes out in sharp bursts, and they pull back just a fraction to smile at each other, before diving in once again. And it feels so good; in fact, Cas thinks, half in a daze, this is like no kiss he has ever had before. It’s like lightning between them, as well as coming home, so many conflicting but good emotions coursing through him that Cas can’t quite acknowledge each one of them individually.  

He does acknowledge the sting in his chest, and the hiss blasting out of Dean’s mouth as Dean backs him up against the door, however.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, dropping his grip on him and stepping back in alarm, and it takes Cas a moment to realize his own blast of pain has been voiced out loud.

“I am,” he says, a little breathless, watching as Dean gets increasingly wide-eyed, those eyes eventually dropping to hover over the front of Cas’ shirt.

“Are you…” he begins to say, when Dean’s earlier ripple when he touched him Cas belatedly registers as an expression of pain.  

And things begin click into place for him. Dean’s own hesitance to rush things between them. The occasional winces as though his chest also hurts. The conflicted way he sometimes smiles at him. And the way his mouth is falling open in alarm just as it’s doing right now.

This isn’t happening, Cas tells himself, pleading with it not to be a reality. Things are so _good_ between them as they are, he doesn’t _want_ this complication of a soulmate thing that neither one of them believes in. And he definitely doesn’t want to lose Dean, who Cas thinks might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him in his entire life.

“Can I see?” Dean asks softly, and Cas can’t tell the tone of how his voice is broken. He’s stranded, unsure of what to do, or say, or even think. So he does the only thing he can do. Grips tight to the hem of his shirt and yanks it up in one fluid movement over his head.

Dean’s eyes fall immediately to the redness over his heart, and Cas is sure his eyes are tracing out the line that is his soulmate mark. And without saying a word, Dean’s mirroring his movements. Clutching his shirt down by his left side, dragging it up over his head to the right, and baring his chest to Cas, visibly holding his breath.

Cas’ eyes immediately fall to the painful red swelling that is over Dean’s own chest. Takes in the soulmate mark that on first glance, he thinks might look like a very rough line sketch of some kind of fern. But then he’s stepping closer, his heart beginning to pound in protest. Because Dean’s soulmate mark is at the exact angle for his own mark to divide a perfect line through, and Cas may be an artist used to interpretation, but it’s impossible for anyone not to see the way the two marks fit, forming the outline of a feather.

Cas drags his eyes up to meet Dean’s own shocked ones, watching the way he repeatedly swallows, and has no way to find his own words.

“Your name,” Dean manages to choke after a minute of staring, “it means… you said you were named after an angel,”

“Castiel,” Cas says, nodding, not daring himself to say anything more.

“Is this,” Dean says, looking down at his own chest before back at Cas’, “is this supposed to be an angel feather, or something?”

Cas can only raise his shoulders in a shrug, having no answer at all.

Dean stares back at him, and the silence closes in to deafen Cas, have his heart pounding in protest even as a constant roar wells up in his ears.

“What… what’d we do now?” Dean asks, soft, uncertain, and so broken that Cas finds himself reaching out with hesitant fingers that Dean first flinches away from, then tangles through his own.

And Cas says the only thing that comes to mind, the only thing he can say.

“I don’t know,”

***

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :)
> 
> I had no intention of adding anything else to this but enough people were asking and I had an idea, and... here's another three chapters. Again - I don't have plans to write beyond what's written, but look how that worked out last time...
> 
> Enjoy! x

Dean leans in again, and there’s a new softness to it. Cas’ back is against the door and Dean is pressed against him, but angled so those enflamed soulmate marks aren’t receiving too much pressure.

“You tried anything for this?” Dean asks, hands low around his waist and murmuring his question against Cas’ lips, not having to even gesture for Cas to know what he’s meaning.

“Several things,” Cas admits, listing all the products he’s used with no lasting effect.

“Same,” Dean huffs, dropping their foreheads together for a moment then pulling back with a sigh. “We should… we should talk about this,”

Cas nods, because that’s what he’s been fearing. A talk might mean the end of this beautiful new thing they have together, and Cas isn’t ready to give Dean up. But he nods anyway, is a little comforted by the way Dean first bends to snatch up both their shirts, then tangles their fingers together, and both nods his head and tugs Cas’ hand for him to follow him to the couch.

“Cas,” he whispers, still holding his hand even as Cas sinks into the couch, “I know we’ve… I know this is… I know we’re _new_ here, but… however this thing’s gonna go—” and Cas watches his free hand wave between them after tossing their shirts to the armchair, “—I wanna… I’d like it if you stayed. Here, tonight. Hell knows I could do with a drink,”

Cas’ eyes fall to Dean’s fingers, not that the tremble in them isn’t already obvious in his grip. He thinks maybe they need this, a full evening together without interruption. There’s so many things they need to get out. “I’d like that,”

Dean squeezes his fingers in relief, slides them over his palm as he pulls away, and Cas enjoys the view that is his naked back and ass-hugging jeans as he disappears, presumably into the kitchen. He returns moments later with two tumblers and a full bottle of whiskey, and Cas wonders as he watches Dean crack the cap open, if he’s bought it especially for this, perhaps anticipating that this might happen between them at some stage.  

They clink their glasses together, and Cas follows Dean’s example of drinking in one, watching Dean refill their glasses then begin to sip at his second more slowly, and it seems to Cas that Dean’s just as lost for how to start with this as he’s feeling. But then Dean’s fingers are creeping across the cushion space between them to snag through Cas’ own, and he feels anchored, realizing it’s a feeling he’s had every time he’s come into contact with Dean of late. Perhaps always.

“So,” Dean says, then comes to a stop, and Cas pleads with himself to find some words.

“Neither of us believe in this, Dean,”  

“No,” Dean agrees, “but it’s happening… I mean, I can’t help think…” and Dean stumbles again, but his eyes fall down to the soulmate mark on Cas’ chest, and then to his own.

“The marks… they do fit,” Cas points out, reluctant though unable to avoid how very precise the feather shape their two marks together will form.

“They do,”

“I’ve never… I’ve never seen these things _fit_ like these before,” Dean says, and there’s worry in his voice. Cas might not know that much about soulmate marks, but he knows that now they’ve acknowledged this thing between them that the clock is ticking. There are authorities to notify, the ceremony to arrange, and Cas is relieved that at least he’s got to know Dean first.  

He’s heard stories of soulmates who have been matched and not known each other, thrown with force at one another with soulmate attraction, and felt violated by their own instincts as much as drawn to their partners. And he’s heard stories of those who have avoided notifying the necessary authorities in time, and the trouble those supposed soulmates have got into; everything ranging from heavy fines to disappearing without a trace.

Cas has even heard rumors of such soulmates being taken to be experimented on, but pleads with himself to reject the idea as ludicrous—more ludicrous than anything else about all of this.  

“Dean; I have never… I know very little about this. It has always… I have never believed, in any of this,” and there must be fear in his voice for the gentle way Dean looks at him, runs his thumb up the back of his hand. That slightest touch swirls a heat through Cas' entire body, and the way Dean's eye blow a little wider tells him he's feeling the same as well. He has to swallow a couple of times before he can answer.

“Well, here’s all I know—from my Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen, and from Sam and Eileen. You… if you meet your soulmate like this, you… there’s a reason our marks have been acting up like this,”

Cas follows Dean’s gaze down to his own chest to see the redness seeping outwards from his mark, then raises his head again to look Dean in the eye. “Because we’ve been fighting it?”

“Because we’ve been fighting it,” Dean agrees with a sigh. “Apparently, this only happens if you _resist_ ,”

“But it’s not… it’s not about resisting, Dean,” Cas protests, “I didn’t… I never thought that… I—”

“Part of me didn’t think it could be you either, Cas,” Dean admits, smiling at him and taking another sip of whiskey, “I mean, I wanted it to be you, if it was gonna be anyone. But I just… I’ve never wanted any of this to happen,”  

“So we have to… notify the authorities,” Cas prompts, because he’s not sure where else this conversation is supposed to go, and is only going with the briefest details he knows about.

“We do,” Dean agrees, grimacing a little, and it seems that this is one of the parts about this whole thing that Dean dislikes as much as he does. “We’ve got… we’re supposed to go to this… government department to register, book in the ceremony so we can get our mark tattooed. It’s supposed to be… within a week of meeting your soulmate. I don’t know the specifics for if you’ve… like, if you didn’t really _know_ , like us, but… unless you feel like going on the run with me, we’d better… we’d better do it soon. I think we… I think we can push back the date of the ceremony a few more weeks. And it’s not like a wedding where we have any, like… say in things. Like… vows, witnesses and stuff,”

“I suppose it’s… it’s not as though we do not already like one another,” Cas stumbles out, hoping that he’s not misread the situation, even if it's fairly obvious he hasn't. Dean smiles, squeezes his fingers as he leans to put his glass on the floor next to their feet, gestures for Cas to do the same, then is leaning across the couch to cup his face, pulling him into a kiss.  

“Think it’s pretty obvious we _like_ each other, Cas,” Dean smiles, nuzzling against his cheek, “been feeling like this about you since we met in that cafe all that time ago,”

Cas is relieved, glad to know it’s not just been him that’s now recognizing the depth of their connection from so early in them knowing each other. “Then… we should… _register_ ,”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, shuffling until he can throw his arm around Cas’ shoulders and press a kiss to his temple, “I think… we gotta do it sooner rather than later, ‘specially with all this,”

Cas watches Dean gesture at the redness blooming on both their chests, and nods. “Will this fade?”

“It should now,” Dean agrees, “don’t know about you, but… already it’s not stinging half as bad,”

Cas raises his fingers to trace over his mark and realizes that Dean is correct; it’s still far too warm to the touch, but it doesn’t feel swollen, and the constant buzz of _sting_ seems to be fading. Dean’s looks more furious than his own, Cas thinks, but it’s probably to do with the comparative size; the mark covers his entire peck diagonally, whereas Cas’ is little more than a tapered line.

“So we… we should… tomorrow, if you can be free, then… then we should… we should probably go,” Dean prompts, and Cas tries to concentrate on the feel of Dean’s fingers playing on his arm where it’s draped around him, instead of that sense of panic starting to creep up on him for not knowing how any of this soulmate thing is going to work.

“I can be free in the afternoon,”

“Me too,” Dean agrees, “I’ll… I’ll tell Bobby in the morning, and we’ll… move things around. Hell; I tell him now, he’ll probably tell me to take a full day,”

“Will it take that long?” Cas asks, not knowing anything about the procedure. Is he supposed to bring ID? Declare his intentions when he’s not even sure what that will mean? Should they have decided on what their mark is going to be even if it’s completely obvious it’s a feather of some kind? Or is their connection the thing that’s forcing them to see their joined mark as that image? He has no idea at all.

“We’ll… Sam said it was about a half hour of filling in forms. Says it wasn’t anything too taxing, but that we’d be asked a lot of questions,”

“Like what?” Cas asks, panicking a little more; he doesn’t like any form of excessive questioning, and it sounds very much like that’s exactly what they’re going to get.  

“I don’t think it’s anything too intrusive,” Dean says, sounding like he’s trying to reassure him even if he doesn’t sound too sure of what he’s saying either. “I think we… we just tell them we’ve… _found_ each other. That we… I mean, we’re so _new_ here, but… that we intend to… try and be together. And that we… I guess the rest is just things to put in their system,”

“Like?”

“Where we work. Qualifications. That kinda thing,”

“Why do they need to know?” Cas prompts, even though he knows it’s not fair; he can’t expect Dean to have all the answers for this, and he can probably look up a lot of this up himself. It’s just he’s never had to _consider_ any of this; everything Dean’s told him in the past five minutes is alarming to Cas, who’s never so much as considered finding a soulmate might be this involved.

“I… honestly, Cas, I don’t know,” Dean sighs, pressing another kiss to his temple. It’s the smallest of gestures, but just that tiny amount of contact soothes Cas, leaving him closing his eyes, turning his head, and pressing their lips together with his own sigh.  

“Then we should… ask questions tomorrow,” he suggests, hoping to change the subject. Dean nuzzles against him as though he likes the idea himself, presses another kiss to his temple, then pulls back, passing Cas his drink before retrieving his own.  

“Maybe I should be educating you some more on music,” Dean teases, his fingers back to being slotted through Cas’, thumb out and circling over the back of his hand as though it’s already a habit. 

“Perhaps,” Cas agrees, and once they’ve both drained their glasses Dean is standing, striding over to his vinyl player and patting it as though it’s a prized possession, then carefully selecting a vinyl, which Cas recognizes immediately, smiling up at Dean even before he’s sat down.

“You know this one, huh? I can tell by the look on your face,”

“I do,” Cas agrees, deliberately letting himself look at Dean now he’s got him there shirtless, seeing beyond that inflamed mark and wanting to reach out. With hesitant fingertips he does just that, flaring them in request over Dean’s heart then gently exploring once he receives a nod. Dean lets out a soft, surprised moan the moment Cas touches him, watching Cas’ fingers as they explore his chest.  

Flattening his palms against him, Cas sweeps his hands up Dean’s sides, thumbs out and brushing over nipples, smiling at the way Dean’s stomach ripples for that, and when he sees Dean’s fingers flex as though he’s not sure if he can touch him, Cas finds his courage. Swings his leg up over Dean so that he can straddle his lap, resting his wrists over his shoulders so he has plenty of room to explore as well.

Dean’s hands, wide and warm up over his torso sends a shot of pulsing heat through Cas that he’d have trouble attempting to explain. It’s like every nerve ending is singing at the touch of Dean’s skin on his, as though they’ve found a connection to something to which they’ve always belonged. And it’s so good, that Cas wonders just how soulmates ever manage to stay away from each other; it’s like a low buzz of pleasure repeatedly sweeping through his skin.  

“That feel good, Cas?” Dean asks, sweeping his hands over Cas’ sides then spreading them wide over his back.

“Yes,” Cas manages to blast out, just as Dean pulls him in so their chests are touching, and they’re letting out a joint moan.

“So good,” Dean whispers, sounding half-dazed, and Cas has his hands at the back of Dean’s neck so he can duck a little to look at him without breaking too much of the contact between them. But then he has to kiss him, the need coursing through him like fire; the first touch of Dean’s tongue darting between his lips is incendiary, and Cas loses all sense of anything else.

He’s on his back, he thinks, seconds later, with Dean slotted between his legs and grinding down, the feel of which Cas is adamant he’s never felt before. If he were to try and catalogue it, which he is, a little, Cas realizes, it feels as though every touch of Dean’s he’s feeling both the giving and receiving of, and the expression on Dean’s face suggests the same is true for him.

“Is it too soon?” Dean asks, pleading in his voice, and the look he gives Cas then is so full of that need he’s feeling himself, that it becomes like a physical weight on his gut.

“No,” Cas blasts back, “but I don’t know how long we will… we will last,”

“Don’t care,” Dean tells him, bending to start mouthing along his neck, and groaning there as Cas arches up beneath him. And Cas might have fantasized about their first time together being something a little more profound, but when their jeans and boxers are shoved down to mid thigh, and they’re rolling into one another’s grip, Cas doesn’t care. This is exactly what he needed; Dean against him, on him, groaning hard into his shoulder as he comes.  

“Stay with me,” Dean whispers against him, as though fearing he may not. They kiss for a little longer once Cas has nodded in agreement, peer down at the mess they’ve made together, then once clean stumble towards Dean’s bedroom where they curl up in one another’s arms, and kiss their way to sleep.

***

 


	5. Chapter 5

“What happens if you’re already married to somebody else, before you meet your soulmate?” Dean asks, and Cas is glad, because it’s another of the questions he was thinking of asking.

“The marriage is annulled without consequence,”  

Cas doesn’t like their soulmate advisor, Zachariah, who is a greasy, slimy man, with an expression that is constantly _looking_ , as though he might be able to reach into their minds for untruths, or perhaps plant the things he wants to see. It’s probably an overreaction, but he reminds Cas of a least favorite uncle, one he always felt hunted in the presence of. That searching look is making him squirm in his seat, and if it wasn’t for Dean swirling his thumb over the back of his hand, Cas might be antsy enough to be up out of the chair and pacing.  

“Right,” Dean replies, a touch of loathing in his voice that says he dislikes Zachariah just as much.

“And you’ve known each other for a while,” Zachariah says, accusation in his voice as he shuffles through the papers in front of him.

“We have,” Cas agrees, “although we did not know… we did not know that we were… that we are _this_ ,”

“Really,” Zachariah says, full of disbelief as he sits a little more upright in his chair, “it may be necessary for you to prove that,”

“Why?”

Dean’s question is sharp, and Cas doesn’t know why it puts a glint in Zachariah’s eye, but seeing it makes his stomach clench.

“If you have been hiding your soulmate status—”

“We haven’t been hiding anything,” Dean bites back; Cas squeezes his hand in an attempt to help stave off his fury, but between the two of them, they are not doing very well.  

“Are you telling me that there is no _attraction_ between you?” Zachariah goads, eyes falling in a deliberate sweep down their arms pressed together, as though he can see the way their hands are tangled against Dean’s thigh.

“Of course there’s attraction,” Dean huffs, “how’d you think we figured this out?”

“So you discovered the compatibility of your marks through being… _intimate_ with one another,”

“Not exactly,” Dean tells him, and Cas can feel the tension rippling down his arm. He should have taken the time to read more about this, he thinks, now feeling guilt for Dean having to lead so much in this conversation—and for Dean apparently being nervous about things that Cas has no clue about.

“How is it _not exactly_?” Zachariah scorns. “Either you _have_ been intimate, or you _haven’t_ —”

“Isn’t that kinda a personal question?” Dean retorts, and Cas’ heart starts pounding with both alarm and embarrassment. His eyes dart out around the office they’ve been brought to after nervously charging up the municipal building steps and asking for directions. It’s plain, clinical, open plan yet divided into four cubicles. They are the only couple present, and while Cas gets a thrill of excitement in his gut for the connection between them being that of _couple_ , everything else is overwhelming.

“It is your duty as a citizen to report any changes to your soulmate status,” Zachariah tells them, condescending as he sweeps a disapproving look over them both, “as it is your duty to prove that you have not been hiding your relations,”

“Why?” Cas asks, anger beginning to stir itself awake in place of unplaced fear. “Why is this our _duty_? Forgive me; I am from a family where there are no marriages forged through soulmates. This is the first experience I have of any of this. I have… never even believed that soulmates were real,”

“Then aren’t you in for a rude awakening,” Zachariah scoffs again, looking at Cas with even more disdain.

“Is it not your place as our _advisor_ to be ensuring that we both know as much about this as there is to know?” Cas counters, an arch to his voice that Zachariah narrows his eyes at hearing, glaring for a good ten seconds. Cas holds his breath, then watches Zachariah sigh, lean on his forearms against the desk and roll his eyes at them both.

“Soulmates have been born… _recognized_ , for almost… 20 generations—”

“And how long’s a _generation_?” Dean immediately asks, defensive in his tone. Zachariah turns to him with a scowl.

“We base it on 30 years. It depends a lot on life expectancy, which of course has varied over the years—”

“So in _years_?” Cas prompts, turning Zachariah’s focus back to him.

“Around 600,” Zachariah replies, his tone voicing his displeasure at being interrupted even if his words don’t. “Perhaps there were earlier soulmates, but if there were, we were not keeping records of them back then,”

“So why are you keeping records now?” Dean demands, and Zachariah’s scowl deepens. He pinches his lips together in a thin, pale line and stares back at him for what feels like a full minute.

“Because,” he replies, “it is thought that soulmates are direct descendants of angels—”

“Angels?” Dean scoffs, shifting beside Cas. Cas becomes rigid, and his stillness seems to invite Zachariah to go back to staring at him.

“Yes, Mr Winchester, _Angels_. _Castiel_ here must know something about angels, given his name,”

“My family are… religious. Very religious,” Cas stutters, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and trying to focus on the warmth of Dean pressed against his arm. “The majority of my family are named after angels, or other important figures in the bible,”

“And yet you are a heathen,” Zachariah retorts, eyes drifting over him, that earlier disdain morphing into disgust.

“I do not believe, no,”  

“Seems you don’t believe in much of anything,” Zachariah says, holding his gaze until Cas has to snatch his away. He hears Zachariah sigh, feels Dean nudge against his arm in reassurance, then raises his head again. “In today’s world, so full of hate, and turmoil. It is our belief—our _hope_ —that angels will come to the Earth once again to restore balance,”

“Why not _God_?” Dean asks, and Cas thinks that’s a fair question. Though the idea of either a god or angels walking the Earth amongst humans sounds so ridiculous, he can’t help but smile.

“God is clearly not listening,” Zachariah replies, glaring at Cas for his smile, he’s sure of it, and turning his focus fully to Dean, “all the prayers that people spend all of their time sending up there, and we’ve still got war. Famine. Pestilence. Either He’s not listening, or He’s somewhere where he’s not getting our messages,”

“And you think _angels_ might?” Dean scoffs, his posture relaxing for how clearly he doesn’t believe a single word Zachariah is telling them.

“Many people believe that they have been visited by angels, who can observe, offer comfort, but do little else to help,” Zachariah replies. “It is our belief that the angels are… choosing to be born into human bodies, because that is the only way they may be of any true assistance,”

“Angels being born into human bodies,” Dean repeats, incredulous.

“We believe so, yes,”

“Got any evidence to back this up?”

“None that we are able to share with the general public, no,” Zachariah denies, narrowing his eyes at Dean’s immediate reaction of slapping his hand down hard against his own thigh.

“Well I’m so glad we came here for this,” Dean huffs, nudging against Cas’ arm, “next time I’m having trouble sleeping and I want a bedtime story—”

“Believe it or don’t believe it,” Zachariah replies, shrugging, “you cannot be blind to the world around you descending into apocalypse,”

“Apocalypse?” Dean laughs, stretching and getting comfortable.

“Yes, apocalypse,” Zachariah replies, with no humor in his voice at all. “It does not matter what you believe; the world is falling apart whether you believe it is happening or not,”

“So, soulmates,” Cas prompts, when the silence stretches out between them to become awkward.

“Soulmates we believe to be either descendants of angels, or angels themselves,” Zachariah replies, with Cas’ eyes falling to the way his hands are steepled together, and feeling like they might be around his neck, and squeezing.

“So they have to register as… _couples_ , because?” Dean asks, disbelief still obvious in his voice.

“It is believed that angels, without guidance, have become… scattered, throughout the universe,” Zachariah tells him, clearly braced for another peal of laughter from the look in his eyes. “It is also believed, that when two bonded angels find each other, that their union will be what turns this planet around. Their power will bring… calm—peace to this planet. No more fighting. No more pain. No death waiting for anyone that isn’t caused by old age. Doesn’t that sound like something worth a little paperwork, hmm?”

“So,” Dean says, and Cas turns to catch him frowning, “you… what is it you’re looking for, exactly?”

“Well,” Zachariah replies, sitting back again, “we monitor each and every soulmate couple during the ceremony for a… you might say a change of energy,”

“What’s the stuff in the tattoo you make us all have?” Dean asks, and Cas again is pleased he’s voicing one of his own questions.

“It is regular tattoo ink, patented to the governments across the world. For identification purposes only; tattoo artists are forbidden to use the ink on anyone who is not a matched soulmate, and face the harshest penalties if there’s even a sniff of them trying,”

“And what are you hoping this _energy_ is gonna do?” Dean asks. Zachariah groans, out of patience for them both.

“Did I not just tell you?” he says with a wide gesture of his arm. “Peace. Calm. A world without suffering,”

“You expect us to just believe that these… angels, or descendants of angels, are just gonna hook up, and everything’s gonna be alright with the world?” Dean scoffs. “‘Cos firstly, if that’s the case, I’m telling you now; you’re wasting your time with _me_. I’m nothing like angelic,”

“Is this when you reveal to me a dark past I need to be wary of?” Cas interrupts, nudging against his arm and hoping to inject a little light into their conversation—and force a little of the weight away from his heart.

“No,” Dean smiles, winking at him, “I’m just saying; you feel _angelic_ , Cas? 'cos I don't. Wouldn’t we feel different if we were?”

“Would you know what _different_ feels like if how you are is all you have ever known?” Zachariah counters, a mocking smile curling up his lips.  

“If all this _bullshit_ is true,” Dean says then, pushing back on his chair and glaring, “then how come we’re never taught all this stuff in school? Or… I don’t know, by our families, or something?”

“Because until soulmates are matched, they live their lives as regular people. Do you think it wise giving people the knowledge that they might have untold powers seeping through their veins? That this is something the regular populace could deal with? What conflicts is might cause?” Zachariah stares between the two of them as though they are the most ridiculous people he has ever seen.

“And how come… how come matched soulmate couples don’t… tell other people ‘bout all this?” Dean prompts, and Zachariah’s smile becomes cruel.

“You don’t think there’d be consequences for sharing this information that we work so hard to keep from general knowledge?” Zachariah mocks, laughing. “You don’t think there’s even _more_ information we have, that we will only reveal, if a soulmate couple reveals themselves to be truly angelic?”

Cas thinks of all the possibilities for hidden information and goes cold. What else is there that people are not being told? How can there be any truth to any of this? Everything sounds far too whimsical to be anywhere close to true.

“So what happens?” Dean starts to ask then, sitting a little straighter beside Cas. “If you… if you notice some kinda… _power_ with these couples at their ceremony?”

“It is the words they speak to one another, the… promises they make, that is what we believe to be the trigger,” Zachariah replies, back to staring at Dean, “and if this _power_ is then activated, we do nothing; the power itself will _do something_. We are but bystanders. Monitoring for when the time will come,”

“So you’re not… carting off these soulmates… I don’t know. Running tests on ‘em, or something?” Dean asks, and Cas holds his breath, stares at Zachariah to watch for any sign of him lying.

“Mr Winchester,” Zachariah laughs, swiveling on his chair, “this is _why_ we keep these things secret. Why there are harsh punishments for those soulmates who reveal any details of this… meeting. Because then rumors get out that are… convoluted, and so far from the truth that it would be laughable, were it not to make people nervous. You’ve heard, surely, of soulmate couples _fleeing_ , quite unnecessarily,”

Cas doesn’t know what to believe. He barely knows how to think at the moment.

“So… how many of us… how many soulmates are there? Matched, I mean,” Dean asks; Cas squeezes his fingers like an anchor.

“There are less than ten thousand in the world. Ten thousand people, out of almost eight billion,” Zachariah tells them, steepling his hands together once again.  

“And so far, this… _power_ you think’s gonna save us all hasn’t shown up in any one of ‘em?”

“It doesn’t show up in _one_ ,” Zachariah scorns, “what have we been talking about for the last ten minutes; it only shows up in a couple. A specific couple,”

“And how come this couple only reveals itself at this damn ceremony of yours?” Dean demands, still sounding thoroughly disbelieving.

Zachariah pushes back from the desk in impatience, gritting his teeth. “What part of me telling you, it’s the _words_ spoken at this ceremony that’s the thing that will trigger that angelic power?”

“But—”

“There are specific paragraphs from religious texts that have long been studied by scholars since soulmates started to be recognized, that have since been removed from all religious texts in circulation, specifically for this purpose,”

“But why would it be such a bad thing for this _power_ to be… I don’t know, set off by a couple saying the words in private for themselves?” Dean prompts. Cas wishes he was contributing more to the conversation but feels completely out of his depth.  

“If the world suddenly becomes peaceful, out of nowhere. Wars are stopped, disease no longer plaguing us, famine a thing of the past; who’s to say we learn any lesson? Who’s to say we don’t keep repeating the mistakes that we have done, over and over again? If we can pinpoint when, and how this power is triggered, we can reveal all we know about angels. And power. Perhaps even our thoughts about God; though that is a subject that is hotly debated. Can you imagine those of faith not being in uproar for the suggestion that the being they are praying to is… absent?”

Dean apparently doesn’t know what to say to that for his silence. Cas has no idea what to make of anything.

“And you’ll… if we’re _not_ that. If we are… simply _us_ ,” Cas finds himself saying, “then we… are free to live our lives without… interference?”

Zachariah turns his gaze back to him, and Cas feels his heart thud. “We will, of course, _ask_ that soulmates reveal to us if they feel any… _changes_ in themselves, that might be related to this… angelic power. But otherwise, yes; despite some of us calling for regular… monitoring, it is of the wider opinion that soulmates should be free to live their lives as normally as anyone else,” and it's pretty clear exactly where Zachariah's opinion falls. The thought makes Cas shudder.

“Well _that’s_ something,” Dean mumbles half under his breath.

“Unless of course, the soulmate marks revealed on the would-be couple prove… interesting enough to warrant such… monitoring,” Zachariah amends, eyes narrowing again.

“Which means?” Dean prompts, and Cas is sure his own mark is throbbing in protest.

“It means,” Zachariah sighs, pushing back from the desk once again, “that we would monitor the intended couple up until the ceremony, then for six weeks after. It is believed that by that stretch of time, any _power_ would have revealed itself,”

“And… that’s it?” Dean asks, as unwilling to believe Zachariah apparently as Cas feels.

“What else would you have us do?” Zachariah mocks. “Imprison you? Perform tests to determine if you have any latent power lurking in your blood? We wouldn’t get away with it,”

“So we need to… register. Then arrange this ceremony,” Cas asks, trying to hurry the conversation along.  

“Yes,” Zachariah replies, sighing once again, “we have your details, we know your intentions, we must establish when you first _got together_ to ensure you don’t face any penalties—”

“Last night,” Cas blurts out, “it was last night. Nineteen hours ago, if you wish us to be precise,”

“I see,” Zachariah says, and Cas hates that his cheeks are heated with blush, but tries his best not to flinch from his stare. “And how long have you suspected that you might be soulmates?”

“Since about the three seconds before we yanked each other’s clothes off,” Dean spits back at him, sounding incensed.

Zachariah smiles, seeming to thrive on their obvious discomfort. “Of course, any discomfort, any visible evidence of just how long you have been… hiding this from one another. Perhaps even from yourself, will now have faded due to you being in close proximity,” he adds, “so we are not able to… use that against you,” and Cas thinks of the exploration of one another that morning, and how that redness that has plagued him has disappeared entirely, with no evidence of it on Dean’s chest either.

“Okay,”

“So all that remains now, is for you to show me these marks of yours,” Zachariah says, picking up the paperwork to scan over, then reaching into his desk for a camera. “Once I’ve seen those, we can arrange a date for your ceremony. Determine what happens next,”

Cas feels Dean tense beside him once again, squeezes his hand a little tighter, and asks his heart to calm.

***

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :)
> 
> So this is the end of what I've written so far, and again, like the last time, I know; there's still more story to tell. This feels like a good stopping point for me at the moment. I might add some more to it, I might not; it depends on everything else I'm writing and, of course, if inspiration hits.
> 
> A word about the rating/sex stuff: this warrants a mature rating for me at this point since I didn't feel like making this explicit. And for those of you who are so concerned about who tops/bottoms, Cas is bottoming this time. If I haven't made myself clear about this in the past, and it's not obvious from this chapter, I am team!switch all the way, and always will be. If more of this gets written, both of them will be doing both, or at least that will be implied.

“Guess we don’t have to spend any time interpreting what we want our mark to look like,”

Cas smiles at Dean’s glib comment as they make their way out the building, taking a moment to gulp in fresh air, then nodding. “I suppose we should be… thankful for that,” although Cas isn’t sure when he’s going to feel less invaded. Zachariah’s eyes on them had been greedy ones, coming up close to inspect them, snapping photo after photo of their soulmate marks close up, and even calling in his manager, Raphael, who had studied their marks with just as much intensity, asked them to dress, then beckoned them to follow him to another room.

“Least the coffee was good,” Dean adds, and Cas looks down at the feel of fingers being slotted through his own. It’s grounding, and it’s reassuring, and it feels like it’s somewhere he’s always belonged.

“Yes,” Cas agrees, remembering the plush black couch they’d sunk into in Raphael’s office, his repetition of all Zachariah’s words with an edge more threat. The few seconds it had taken to agree to have the ceremony three weeks from now, and then even more formalities. Reminders that they couldn’t talk about any of this, that even though there might be other people in their lives aware of their marks, that they were not to be brought up in discussion. Scheduling their first meeting a week from now so that the authorities could _monitor_ them for any changes that might signify they had this power they were seeking—that Cas _still_ couldn’t get his head around, but had no one to ask about.

“We’re gonna be okay, Cas,” Dean tells him, soft, and squeezing his hand at the same time, “we’ve not done anything wrong. We’re not gonna _do_ anything wrong. All we gotta do is _be_ ,”

“I know,” Cas agrees, because in theory, he does know. And not that he’s not happy things are finally progressing with Dean in the way he’s been fantasizing about all these weeks, it’s just he wishes they were about to get to know each other even better, without all of this formality and external interference. It doesn’t feel forced, it feels _good_ between them, but there’s so much to take in from it all.

“Hey,” Dean whispers, pulling him to a stop, and natural as anything wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him close, “it’s just us. Just you, and me, okay? Forget any o’ that stuff in there. We’ll deal with it,”  

Cas drops his hand to hook his elbows over Dean’s shoulders and press closer until their chests are bumping, smiling as Dean moves to loop both arms round his waist. “So we should… act normally,”

“How else are we gonna act?” Dean laughs, nosing against his jaw. It feels so natural, so _normal_ , like they’ve been doing this for _years_ , Cas thinks, that feeling giving him the confidence to turn his head quick enough to steal a kiss.

“If we weren’t… if this… attraction we feel for one another, was purely _us_. What would you suggest we do now?” Cas asks, in between Dean beginning to return that kiss in repeated soft brushes of their lips together.

“Honestly?” Dean laughs, leaning against him. “I’d wanna get you home, lock the doors, get you naked, and not leave again until either of us could barely walk,”

Cas laughs at that, though the mere thought of it has him jolting in his boxers, unconsciously rolling his hips against Dean. “I see no reason why we can’t do just that. It is Friday. I am sure Charlie would understand us cancelling our plans,”

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, nuzzling against him, “you know how hard it’s gonna be not to tell her any o’ that?”

“We can’t,” Cas urges, dropping his hands to squeeze over Dean’s shoulders, “not any of it,”

“I know, Cas,” Dean smiles, leaning in to kiss him again, “I know. I just… she’s gonna be excited for us. _More_ excited,”

“I am not sure the human body was meant to contain that much excitement,” Cas huffs, though his smile feels like it might never stop.

“So, Cas,” Dean says, whispering, squeezing around his waist, “we gonna go get some stuff in so we can hole up for the whole weekend? Maybe swing by yours so you can get a change of clothes? Like, for when you leave on Monday morning?”

“I would like that,” Cas smiles, knocking his upper lip against Dean’s to open up their kiss, not caring that they’re stood out the front of the municipal building on a busy sidewalk, where they’re probably getting in everybody’s way.

“I’m all yours, Cas,” Dean whispers, his smile triumphant, wrapping his arms tighter around Cas’ waist as he pulls him into a hug, “I’m all yours,”

***

“So this might’ve been the weirdest twenty-four hours of my life,”

Cas swallows the mouthful of pasta he’s just taken and takes a sip of his beer before he can react to Dean’s question, responding with only a nod.

“I mean, in good ways, mostly,” Dean amends, eyes wider in alarm apparently worrying if Cas might misinterpret him, “I… coulda done without all that stuff at the offices,”

“I don’t know who was worse. Zachariah or Raphael,”

“Zachariah for me, without a doubt,” Dean huffs with a soft groan, “least Raph didn’t make my skin crawl,”

“Raphael was more… menacing, without attempting to be menacing,” Cas replies, hoping with time the image of both of them will begin to fade. Though not if they have to attend regular meetings for the next few weeks, he adds to himself, taking another sip of beer with a sigh.

“Hey,”  

Cas looks down at where Dean’s reached out to grab his hand against the tabletop, and smiles when he squeezes it there.

“It’s gonna be fine, Cas. We’ve just gotta get through all the formalities and… concentrate on us,”

“Dean. Please do not mistake my… reluctance as reluctance to anything between us. It is merely—”

“All the formal stuff,” Dean finishes for him, “I get it. And I feel the same. It’s just… I’ve been… thinking about you for _weeks_ , Cas. Just… without any o’ this soulmate stuff. I… I wanted you from… from the very beginning, I think. And I don’t care if it’s ‘cos of this—” Cas watches the splay of Dean’s fingers over his own chest, and smiles, “—or just ‘cos I’m so… ‘cos I just _want_ you so much,”

Cas swallows another mouthful of pasta with more difficulty, his stomach clenching for Dean’s confirmation of feeling the same as him. “It is the same for me,”

“Charlie introducing us in that cafe, I felt something,” Dean continues, swirling his thumb over the back of Cas’ hand before pulling away, “and at Charlie’s for games night, I just… I wanted to crowd you up against the nearest surface and kiss you right there and then,”

“I would not have objected,” Cas tells him, leaning across the gap between them sat at Dean’s dining table, and sealing their lips together for a second before pulling back, and trying to convince himself to return to his meal.

“Well I know that _now_ , Cas,” Dean laughs, a tease dancing in his eyes, “but I couldn’t tell you were even interested, ‘till you came here for dinner that first time,”

“I have always been _interested_ ,” Cas tells him, smiling at him over the lip of his bottle, “I was… uncertain, that you felt the same,”

“Yeah, well,” Dean huffs, scooping up another forkful of pasta, “guess we’re both on the same page now, right Cas?”

“We are,” Cas agrees, and they smile at each other for a long few seconds before able to resume eating, turning their words to an easier conversation, talking about the music that’s playing on the vinyl player, what the rest of their friends are probably doing at Charlie’s tomorrow night, and how glad they are to have an entire weekend in front of them.

Dishes are washed, second beers opened, and Dean and Cas sink into the couch, with Dean’s arm slung up and around Cas’ shoulder as though it’s the most natural gesture in the world, and Cas’ fingers gripping lightly around Dean’s thigh. And the conversation between them continues to flow without force; Cas has spent more of the past few months feeling like he’s the truest, most content version of himself than he has in his entire life, and Dean is a huge part of that. Nowhere else have words come as easy, and with no one else has Cas not had to hesitate before revealing his thoughts.

“You want another?” Dean asks a little later when they’ve drained their bottles, but the way he’s pressing kisses at Cas’ temple suggests he’s not interested in anything but him. Cas shakes his head, plucks Dean’s bottle from his fingers and pushes both on to the table in front of them, then turns a little more towards Dean.  

Dean lingers another kiss at his temple, dropping one lower over the shell of his ear, then begins to mouth at his neck, and Cas can only angle his head away to give him better access, humming at the feel of Dean’s lips against his skin.

“Want you, Cas,” Dean tells him, mouthing it along his jaw, his hand sweeping up Cas’ arm before cupping his face.

“I want you, Dean,” Cas whispers back, turning a little more, giving in to the instinct to _be_ with Dean, already slotting his fingers under the hem of his shirt.  

“You maybe wanna… take this somewhere else?” Dean asks, staring at Cas with a look of such heated want that Cas’ jeans are beginning to get a little too uncomfortable. He nods in answer, not trusting his voice not to crack with that want he is feeling; Dean stands up, extending a hand to pull Cas to his feet, slots their fingers together then leads him to the bedroom, turning out lights in a way that suggests they’re not surfacing again until morning.

“You look so good,” Dean hums into his neck the second he’s closed his bedroom door, hands first sweeping up beneath the back of his shirt, and then coming to rest over his ass.  

“As do you,” Cas tells him, slotting his fingers into the back pockets of Dean’s jeans to tug him closer, “and you feel… this has never felt like this before,”

“No,” Dean agrees, dragging his hands round to slot between them and begin unbuttoning Cas’ shirt, “never like this. Never like… feels like we _fit_ , you know?”

Cas smiles at that, shrugging out of his hastily unbuttoned shirt and pulling Dean’s shirt and t-shirt off just as quick. “I suppose we are about to find that out,” he teases, and Dean first huffs with laughter then sweeps his hands over Cas’ chest with a soft moan, before hooking his elbows over Cas’ shoulders and humming as their skin touches.

“Need you, Cas,” he whispers into his neck, and Cas goes as nudged, both of them reaching out at the same time to unbutton one another then laughing at the tangle of fingers that means nothing’s coming off, and instead undressing themselves. But then they’re yanking back the comforter from the bed and crawling on to it together, hands already out and exploring before they’ve even got settled. And Cas knows he’s not exaggerating that this feels different to anything he’s experienced before, because every moan and whimper falling from Dean’s mouth as they grip and writhe together side by side tells him Dean is feeling just as much.

“I need to be _in_ you, Cas,” Dean whispers, his voice croaking with that need, and Cas aches with how much he wants that too. He rocks into Dean’s waiting hand, watches himself slide through Dean’s fingers, then leans in for a kiss.

“I need you, Dean,” he manages to blast out, “I want to do everything with you,”

“Then it’s good we got all weekend, right?” Dean smiles, angling himself enough to grip them both in his hand and groaning for the feel of it.

“It is,” Cas agrees, imagining they will not be leaving this bed very much at all over the next couple of days.

“Can I, Cas?” Dean asks, kneeling back up and reaching out for the bedside cabinet, grabbing Cas’ hand for support when he begins to topple, then righting himself with a smile, a bottle of lube grasped in his fingers.

Cas sweeps his hands up over Dean, taking his time up his thighs, snagging out his thumb to tease along his length, then continuing that stroke up over his chest. “Of course,” he whispers back, knocking his knee against Dean’s side, and once Dean’s turned a little to look, splaying his knees apart. Dean groans out immediately, pouring lube on to his hand then rearranging himself back on his side next to Cas.

Cas arches up at the first slide of Dean’s finger into him, accepting his kisses as he opens him up. He glances down at Dean scissoring him open, smiles at Dean’s whimper when he rocks on to his fingers, then moans in anticipation himself when Dean crawls between his legs and splays him open. And when Dean slides into him, Cas is certain this is like nothing else. He doesn’t want to think of things like _coming_ _home_ , or _completion_ , but that’s exactly how he feels, and the pleasure that’s already coursing through him isn’t just flaring out from his core, it’s everywhere. His whole body pulsing with that sense of belonging, and pleasure, and so many other things at once, that if it wasn’t for seeing the same astonishment echoed back in the expression on Dean’s face, Cas might feel overwhelmed.

“I got you, Cas,” Dean whispers, and then he’s kissing it into his throat, whimpering there and telling him how good he feels as he begins to roll his hips.  

Perhaps if Cas had known about _this_ aspect of soulmates, he’d have wanted to pay a little more attention. If anyone had thought to mention how incredible it felt to be joined with your soulmate, then Cas very definitely would have read up on it more before now. This connection between them feels both new and well-practiced, and Cas thinks it might even be a little addictive; to know how every tilt of his hips or brush of his hand is going to ripple a wave of pleasure across Dean’s face already, despite this being only the second time they’ve been intimate with one another, is a feeling Cas doesn't see how he’s going to get enough of.

Dean calling his name repeatedly with such want laced through it Cas is very sure he’ll never get enough of hearing either, he thinks, groaning out as Dean’s fingers wrap around him and he tries to chase the grip of his hand. They are finished in minutes, panting breath back into their lungs, with Dean’s forehead pressed into the crook of Cas’ neck, and Cas wrapping his legs around him, wanting to keep him inside for as long as possible.

“Hey,” Dean whispers when he leans back up to look at him, thumb out in a sweep over his cheek. Cas smiles at the gesture, and turns his head quickly to kiss against his palm. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, arching beneath him in smug satisfaction, and earning himself a delighted burst of laughter before Dean is humming, and bending to kiss him. “Are you?”

“Pretty good,” Dean grins, stirring his hips and humming, “maybe not ready for round two yet, but… I can’t wait to feel you in me, already,”

Cas sweeps his hands up Dean’s sides and hums in agreement. “Perhaps just a little rest first,”

“Everything must’ve been kinda overwhelming for you today, huh, Cas?” Dean asks, grimacing a little as he finally pulls out of him and topples to the side, reaching out for a box of tissues and snatching up a handful to wipe Cas down. Cas watches his fingers working, tilts his chin up for a kiss once he’s done, then lifts his arm when Dean insinuates for it, and smiles as Dean snuggles down against his chest, pressing one soft kiss right in the middle of his soulmate mark before dropping his cheek there with a contented hum.

“It was a lot of information to absorb,” Cas admits, wrapping his arms securely around Dean, dropping a kiss to the back of his head. “I am not sure I believe much of it,”

“Me neither, Cas,” Dean agrees, turning his head just enough to kiss against his chest, “but _they_ believe it. I don’t like any of it; the fact that they do all these _meetings_ with us, and ‘cos of how our marks look, they’re gonna be watching us even longer? Don't like none of it,”

“Eight weeks after the ceremony and the three weeks before sounds… too much,”

“Why we get an extra two weeks monitoring _after_ is stupid,” Dean sighs, “‘cos if some power’s about to erupt out of us ‘cos of these marks, it’s more likely to go off sooner rather than later, right?”

“I would imagine,” Cas replies, though can’t picture it. It sounds fantastical, everything they’ve been told, and he’s half-waiting for someone to announce it’s all been a joke. “If they have been doing this—keeping this secret—for almost 600 years—”

“600 years deluded,” Dean snorts, and Cas spreads his hands wider against his back in agreement, “telling me they’ve been waiting for angels to come save us all this time? If all these governments weren’t so self-absorbed and taking backhanders like they do, turning a blind eye to people suffering ‘cos of _money_ , sticking their noses into the business of other countries when they weren’t wanted just to _get_ more money, maybe we wouldn’t be in half the messes we’re in,”   

Cas gives a non-committal hum of agreement, and both wants to push any thoughts of those meetings far from his mind, and wants to know more.

“How’re you doing, Cas?” Dean asks then, shuffling up the bed again and dropping down on his pillow, turning Cas until he’s on his side. “I can tell you that this is… this might've all been so sudden, for us both. But at the same time, it doesn’t feel like this is awkward, or rushed, or anything. For me, anyway,”

“I feel the same,” Cas agrees, spreading his hand wide on Dean’s hip and luxuriating in the idea he can now reach out and touch him whenever he wants. The weeks leading up to this point have left him aching to do just that, and now he can, it’s like he’s never not known the feel of Dean’s skin against his own. “It is… everything feels both new and not new at the same time. It is difficult to put into words,”

“I guess we just keep… feeling our way through this,” Dean smiles, and Cas shuffles closer at that, leaning in to kiss Dean already knowing the taste of him, yet feeling like he might want to relearn it over and over.

“I would like that,” Cas tells him, closing his eyes and sighing at the feel of Dean sliding his hand over his back, settling happily into his embrace.

***

 


End file.
